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THE CENTAUR
j^&m.
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
LONDON • BOMBAY CALCUTTA
•
MELBOURNE
BY
ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
AUTHOR OF ' EDUCATION OF UNCLE PAUL,'
•jIMBO,' 'human chord,' ETC.
TO
AN INTELLECTUAL MYSTIC.
— —
*We may be in the Universe as dogs and cats are in our libraries,
seeing the books and hearing the conversation, but having no inkling
of the meaning of it all.* William James, A Pluralistic Uni'verse.
«... A man's vision is the great fact about him. Who cares for
Carlyle's reasons, or Schopenhauer's, or Spencer's ? A
philosophy is
the expression of a man's intimate character, and all definitions of
the Universe are but the deliberately adopted reactions of human
characters upon it.' Ibid.
tell
— you, pretty
it
often.
was
First impressions.
like a possession.'
Old man, I
*
I believe you,' I said. For Terence O'Malley
all his life had never understood half measures.
——
II
it, of many that have succumbed to it, and of some that are still in
the throes of it, we know of no single case in which a nation has fairly
recovered from and passed through it to a more normal and healthy
condition. In other words, the development of human society has
never yet (that we know of) passed beyond a certain definite and
apparently final stage in the process we call Civilisation ; at that stage
it has always succumbed or been arrested.' Edward Carpenter,
Ci'viltsation : its Cause and Cure.
lo THE CENTAUR n
Not was fool enough to despise Reason in
that he
what he was wise
called its proper place, but that he *
enough —
not that he was intellectual enough *
' !
him say, ' ignored the intellect, and who, will ye tell
me, can by searching find out God ? And yet what
else is worth finding out ? Isn't it only by
. . .
—
becoming as a little child a child that feels and
—
never reasons things that any one shall enter the
kingdom ? . . , Where will the giant intellects be
before the Great a simple man
White Throne when
with the heart of a child will top the lot of 'em ?
'
Nature, I'm convinced,' he said another time,
thongh he said it with puzzled eyes and a mind
obviously groping, is our next step.
*
Reason has
done its best for centuries, and gets no further. It
can get no further, for can do nothing for the inner
it
lifewhich is We
the sole reality. must return to
Nature and a purified intuition, to a greater reliance
upon what is now subconscious, back to that sweet,
grave guidance of the Universe which we've discarded
with the primitive state —
a spiritual intelligence, really,
divorced from mere intellectuality.'
And by Nature he did not mean a return to
savagery. There was no idea of going backwards in
his wild words. Rather he looked forwards, in some
way hard to understand, to a state when Man, with
the best results of Reason in his pocket, might return
to the instinctive life —
to feeling wuk to the sinking —
down of the modern, exaggerated intellectual per-
sonality into its rightful place as guide instead of
II THE CENTAUR ii
1 THE CENTAUR ii
'
nothing to what it has lost by them
'A dream, my dear fellow, a mere dream,' I
stopped him, yet with sympathy because I knew he
found relief this way. Your constructive imagina-
*
II THE CENTAUR 17
'
but beautiful and seductive.*
To argue bored him. He loved to state his
matter, fill it with detail, blow the heated breath of
life into it, and then leave it. Argument belittled
without clarifying criticism destroyed, sealing up
;
at all'
And then he poured out O'Shaughnessy's
passionate ode to the Dreamers of the world :
1 THE CENTAUR ii
in
* Lonely ! Why should I feel lonely ? Is not our planet in the
Milky Way ? '
Thoreau.
22 THE CENTAUR in
IV
* We think with only a small part of the past, but it is with our
entire past, including the original bent of our soul, that we desire, will,
and act.' Henri Bergson.
'
Don't mind anything much,' was the cheery reply.
*I'm not particular I'm easy-going and you needn't
;
IV THE CENTAUR 25
'
No ; Batoum.'
'
'
Ach Oil ^
!
*
Caucasus generally —up in the mountains a bit.'
* God blenty veapons then, I hope. They shoot
you two pfennig up there
for And he was off !
'
son.
At the table behind, there was a steady roar and
buzz of voices ; the Captain was easy and genial,
prophesying to the ladies on either side of him a
calm voyage. In the shelter of his big voice even
the shy found it easy to make remarks to their
neighbours. Listening to fragments of the talk
O'Mallcy found that his own eyes kept wandering
down the table — diagonally across — to the two
28 THE CENTAUR iv
Greece.'
It rang across the pause, and at the same moment
O'Malley caught the eyes of the big stranger lifted
suddenly and fixed upon the speaker's face as though
the words had summoned him.
They shifted the same instant to his own, then
dropped again to his plate. Again the clatter of
conversation drowned the room as before the ;
IV THE CENTAUR 31
'
fellow, but it's not that
Partly, though,' said the other, ' partly, I think.'
*
*
Of all people you should see,' smiled the doctor
'
32 THE CENTAUR IV
36 THE CENTAUR v
exist —
more, could never have existed. The Irish-
man, who had never realized exactly why the life of
To-day to him was dreadful, now understood it in
the presence of this simple being with his atmosphere
of stately power. He was like a child, but a child
of some pre-existence utterly primitive and utterly
forgotten of no particular age, but of some state
;
VI
' Man began in instinct and will end in instinct. Instinct is genius
in Paradise, before the period of self-abstraction (self-knowledge).*
Ibid.
*
Look here, old man/ heme, I'll just said to '
*
It must seem incredible to most men, but, by
Gad, I swear to you, it lifted me off my feet, and
42
VI ^ THE CENTAUR 43
—
away puts them off, and so on. I've tried to
smother it a bit sometimes
'
'
Have you ?
I laughed. '
44 THE CENTAUR vi
Wild, isn't it ?
He fairly snorted. Sure as we're both alive here
*
'
Steady, steady, old boy ; don't spoil your righteous
case by overstatement.'
Well, well, you know what I mean,' he laughed
*
48 THE CENTAUR vi
'
every man who thinks for himself and feels vividly
finds he lives in a world of his own, apart, and
believes that one day he'll come across, either in a
book or in a person, the Priest who shall make it
clear to him. —
Well I'd found mine, that's all. I
can't prove it to you with a pair of scales or a
butcher's meat-axe, but it's true.'
*
And you mean mere presence conveyed all
his
thiswithout speech almost ?
Because there was no speech possible,' he replied,
*
desolate survival.*
*
An appalling picture !
'
He hesitated.
'That,' he added, *was a kind of mistake. To
go involved, I felt, an inner catastrophe that might
be Death —
that it would be out of the body, I mean,
or a going backwards. In reality, it was a going
forwards and a way to Life.'
—
VII
VIII
disturbed him.
*
Of course. Why not.^ Is there anything
wrong } '
He felt uneasy. The doctor's manner
confirmed the sense that he had done a rash thing.
Instantly the barrier between the two crumbled and
he lost the first feeling of resentment that his friends
^ Divided or split personality, automatic speech and writing, mediumship
and possession generally.
55
—
56 THE CENTAUR viii
—
may say to the point of sometimes avoiding me
— '
'
the opportunity I refer to
^Ah !'
* Until now !
'
the doctor added. * Until now.'
Puzzled and interested the Irishman waited for
'
the steps had died away, you are saying things that
*
essentially
'
—
they had lapsed into German now, and
—
he used the German word unheimlich'
*
'Doctor . . .
!'
'
I have known before, yes, and carefully studied.'
'
IX
* Is it not just possible that there is a mode of being as much tran-
scending Intelligence and Will as these transcend mechanical motion ?
— Herbert Spencer, First Principles.
The two men left the rail and walked arm in arm
along the deserted deck, speaking in lowered
voices.
'
He came first to us, brought by the keeper of
an obscure hotel where he was staying, as a case
—
of lapse of memory loss of memory, I should say,
for it was complete. He was unable to say who he
was, whence he came, or to whom he belonged. Of
his land or people we could learn nothing. His
antecedents were an utter blank. Speech he had
practically none of his own —
nothing but the merest
smattering of many tongues, a word here, a word
there. Utterance, indeed, of any kind was exceed-
ingly difficult to him. For years, evidently, he had
wandered over the world, companionless among men,
seeking his own, finding no place where to lay his
head. People, it seemed, both men and women,
kept him at arm's-length, feeling afraid ; the keeper
of the little hotel was clearly terrified. This quality
he had that I mentioned just now, repelled human
beings — even in the Hospital it was noticeable and —
placed him in the midst of humanity thus absolutely
6i
'
62 THE CENTAUR ix
'
Not physically. The man is gentle and safe in
every way.'
'
But there is danger — in your opinion ?
'
insisted
the other.
'
There is danger
*
'
—
Urmensch }
'
" quality " which makes the proximity of this " being "
dangerous in a word that he may take you er
: —
with him.'
Conversion ?
*
Appropriation.'
*
IX THE CENTAUR 65
whom you call a " survival," and who makes you fear
for my safety. Tell me
what he is }
exactly
They found themselves just then by the doctor's
cabin, and Stahl, pushing the door open, led him in.
Taking the sofa for himself, he pointed to an arm-
chair opposite.
— a
nettled. '
I can manage myself all right have done —
so far, at any rate.'
It was curious how the r61es had shifted.
O'Malley it was now who checked and criticized.
*
I suggest caution,' was the reply, made earnestly.
*
suggest caution.'
I
I should keep
*
your warnings for mediums,
clairvoyants, and the like,' said the other tartly. He
was half amazed, half alarmed even while he said it.
It was the personal application that annoyed him.
*
They are rather apt to go off their heads, I believe.'
Dr. Stahl rose and stood before him as though
the words had given him a cue he wanted. From '
suggestive " cases " have come, though not for one
moment do I think of including you with them.
Yet these very " cases " have been due one and all to
the same cause —
the singular disorder I have just
mentioned.'
stared at one another a moment in silence.
They
Stahl, whether O'Malley liked it or no, was impressive.
He gazed at the little figure in front of him, the
ragged untidy beard, the light shining on the bald
skull, wondering what was coming next and what all
this bewildering confession of unorthodox belief was
leading up to. He longed to hear more about that
hinted Cosmic Life and how yearning might
. . .
XI
* In scientific terms one can say : Consciousness is everywhere ; it
isawake when and wherever the bodily energy underlying the spiritual
exceeds that degree of strength which we call the threshold. According
to this, consciousness can be localized in time and space/ Fechner,
Buchlein <vom Leben nach dem Tode. .
XI THE CENTAUR 75
himself was terrific, and that a * doctor should have
'
—
whispered for their india-rubber soles slithered on
the wet decks. '
We
shall see from here, eh See .?
XI THE CENTAUR 79
8o THE CENTAUR XI
XIII
' It may happen that the earthly body falls asleep in one direction
deeply enough to allow it in others to awaken far beyond its usual
limits, and yet not so deeply and completely as to awaken no more.
Or, to the subjective vision there comes a flash so unusually vivid as
to bring to the earthly sense an impression rising above the threshold
from an otherwise inaccessible distance. Here begin the wonders of
clairvoyance, of presentiments, and premonitions in dreams ; pure
fables, if the future body and the future life are fables ; otherwise signs
—
of the one and predictions of the other ; but what has signs exists, and
what has prophecies will come.' Fechner, Buchle'tn <vom Leben nach
dem Tode.
88
XIII THE CENTAUR 89
*
You are in danger,' that wise old speculative
!
doctor had whispered, ' and especially in sleep
XIII THE CENTAUR 91
large —
that he dreaded to see himself in the mirror
lest he might witness an external appearance of
bigness which corresponded to this interior expansion.
For a long time he lay unresisting, letting the
currents of this subjective tempest play through and
round him. Entrancing sensations of beauty and
rapture came with it. The outer world seemed
remote and trivial, the passengers unreal the priest, —
the voluble merchant, the jovial Captain, all spun
like dead things at the periphery of life whereas ;
!
eternal companionship The cry was instinctive '
Singing
* '
Ah ! There was the clue
! The !
*
Come with me to my cabin to the decks any- — —
where away from this — before it's too late.'
And the Irishman then realized that his face was
white and that his voice shook. The hand that
gripped him by the arm shook too.
They went quickly along the deserted corridor
and up the stairs, O^Malley making no resistance,
moving kind of dream.
in a He has a fleeting recol-
lection of an odour, sweet and slightly pungent as of
horses, in his nostrils. The wind of the open decks
revived him, and he saw to his amazement that the
East was brightening. In that cabin, then, hours
had been compressed into minutes.
The steamer had already slipped by the Straits of
Messina. To the right he saw the cones of Etna,
shadowy in the sky, calling across the dawn to Strom-
boli their smoking brother of the Lipari. To the
left over the blue Ionian Sea the lights of a cloudless
sunrise rose softly above the world.
And the hour of enchantment seized and shook
him anew. Somewhere, across those faint blue waves,
lay the things that he so passionately sought. It
was the very essence of their loveliness and wonder
that had charged down between the walls of that
stuffy cabin below. For every morning still, at
dawn, the tired world knows again the splendours of
her youth ;and the Irishman, shuddering a little in
his sacred joy, felt that he must burst his bonds and
fly to join the sunrise and the sea. The yearning, he
was aware, had now increased a thousandfold its :
Modern
' exclaimed the other, noticing the
!
'
XIV THE cEmAuayr^]:} ;v ^ fjoi
ashes on his coat for the first time and brushing them
off impatiently. *
Everything in you expresses itself
in terms of matter, forgetting that matter being in
*
continual state of flux is the least real of all things
Our training has been different,' observed Stahl
*
- '
You spoke a few days ago of strange things,'
O'Malley said presently with abruptness, *and spoke
io?;v : t;; ^ {^^:;tH£vCENTAUR xiv
breath.
The other did not answer for a moment.
0*Malley repeated the question.
'
Temporarily,* said Stahl, turning away again
towards his desk, '
unless — the yearning were too
strong.*
*
'
In which case ?
*
Permanently. For it would draw the entire
personality with it. . .
.*
*
'
The soul ?
of reality— of awful —
reality in the idea that this
splendid globe whereon wc perched like insects peep-
ing timidly from tiny cells, might be the body of a
glorious Being — the mighty frame to which some
immense Collective Consciousness, vaster than that of
men, and wholly different in kind, might be attached.
In the story, as I found it later in the dusty little
Paddington room, O'Malley reported, somewhat
heavily,it seemed to me, the excerpts chosen by Dr.
'
body of dead, inert matter ; the bulk of the world
' '
*
Yes,' said O'Malley softly in my ear as we
leaned against the chimneys and watched the tobacco
curl up to the stars, ' and it was this man's imagina-
tion that had evidently caught old Stahl and bowled
him over. I never fathomed the doctor quite. His
critical and imaginative apparatus got a bit mixed
up, I suspect, for one moment he cursed me for
asking " suspicious questions," and the next sneered
sarcastically at me for boiling over with a sudden
inspirational fancy of my own. He never gave
himself away completely, and left me to guess that
he made that Hospital place too hot to hold him.
He was a wonderful bird. But every time I aimed
at him I shot wide and hit a cloud. Meantime he
peppered me all over —one minute urging me into
1 Professor William James, A Pluralistic Universe.
XVI THE CENTAUR 113
moments of unconsciousness —
semi-consciousness
perhaps —
when I really did leave my body caught —
away as Moses, or was it Job or Paul ^ into a Third —
Heaven, where I touched a bit of Reality that fairly
made me reel with happiness and wonder.'
Well, but Fechner
*
—
and his great idea.?' I
brought him back.
He tossed his cigarette down into the back-garden
that fringed the Park, leaning over to watch its zig-
zag flight of flame.
Is simply this,' he replied,
* —
" that not alone the
*
*
Go on,* I exclaimed, realizing that he was ob-
viously quoting verbatim fragments from James that
he had since pondered over till they had become his
own. *Tell me more. It is delightful and very
splendid.'
Yes,' he said, I'll go on quick enough, provided
' *
now ?
ventured. * We
all know that.'
'
But Fechner,' he replied, insists that a planet is
*
point.'
'
Ah !
I watched a shooting star dive across our
'
*
"What are our legs,' " he laughed, "but crutches, *
—one of —
*
We are literally a part of her, then projections
of her immense life, as it were the projections,
?
at least
'
Exactly. And just as we are ourselves a part of
the earth,' he continued, taking up my thought at
once, '
so are our organs her organs. " She is, as
it were, eye and ear over her whole extent — all that
we see in separation she sees and hears at
and hear
once." ' ^ He
stood up beside me and spread his
hands out to the stars and over the trees and paths
of the Park at our feet, where the throngs of men and
women walked and talked together in the cool of the
evening. His enthusiasm grew as the idea of this
German's towering imagination possessed him.
*
" She brings forth living beings of countless
kinds upon her surface, and their multitudinous
conscious relations with each other she takes up into
her higher and more general conscious life." ^ '
*
All this she takes up into her great heart as part
of herself! I murmured. '
* All this,' he
replied softly, as the sound of the
^ Professor William James, A Pluralistic Uni'verse.
ii8 THE CENTAUR XVI
at me, speaking it into the night about us, the call '
?
fearful exquisite survival ' I suggested, remembering
Stahl's words.
His eyes shone with the fire of his passion. Of *
'
which on that little tourist steamer I found one !
— —
of happiness 1 All so sure they knew the way yet
hurrying really in the wrong direction outwards
instead of inwards ; afraid to be — simple. . . .
XVII
that the earth possesses each and all of them more perfectly than we.
He considers in detail the points of difference between us, and shows
them all to make for the Earth's higher rank. . . .
animal is sedate and tranquil compared with the agitation of its blood
corpuscles, so is the earth a sedate and tranquil being compared with
the animals whom she supports.
* To develop from within, instead of being fashioned from without,
is also counted as something superior in men's eyes. An egg is a
higher style of being than a piece of clay which an external modeller
makes into the image of a bird. The earth's history develops from
within. . . .
121
122 THE CENTAUR xvii
she is —
different. " Their functions she performs
through us She has no proper muscles or limbs of
!
pains of life, they make one feel, need not kill true
joy, nordeaden effort.
Come,' said O'Malley softly, interrupting my
*
The gods .
Were these
then projections of her personality
aspects and facets of her divided self emanations —
now withdrawn ? Latent in her did they still exist
as moods or Powers —
true, alive, everlasting, but
unmanifest ^ Still knowable to simple men and to
Children of Nature ?
Was this the giant truth that Stahl had built on
Fechner ?
Everything about us seemed to draw together
into an immense and towering configuration that
included trees and air and the sweep of open park
the looming and overwhelming beauty of one of these
very gods survived —
Pan, the eternal and the
splendid ... a mood of the Earth-life, a projection
clothed with the light of stars, the cloudy air, the
passion of the night, the thrill of an august, extended
Mood.
And the others were not so very behind — those
other little parcels of Earth's Consciousness the
Greeks and early races, the simple, primitive, child-
like peoples of the dawn divined the existence of, and
labelled *
gods ' . and worshipped ... so as to
. .
126 THE CENTAUR xvu
draw their powers into themselves by ecstasy and
vision . . . ?
recapture.
Yet, while he crawled slowly with the steamer
over a tiny portion of the spinning globe, feeling that
at the same time he crawled towards a spot upon
it where access would be somehow possible to this
—
huge expression of her first Life what was it, phrased
timidly as men phrase big thoughts to-day, that he
really believed } Even in our London talks, intimate
as they were, interpreted too by gesture, facial ex-
pression, and — silence, his full meaning evaded
precise definition. ' There are no words, there are
—
XVIII THE CENTAUR 129
Being '
—
a being scarcely differentiated from the life of
—
the Earth Spirit herself a direct expression of her life,
a survival of a time before such expressions had
separated away from her and become individualized as
human creatures. Moreover, certain of these earliest
manifestations or projections of her consciousness,
knowing in their huge shapes of fearful yet simple
beauty a glory of her own being, still also survived.
The generic term of *
might describe their
gods '
*
Oh he cried once with passion, turning to the
!
'
XIX
'Privacy is ignorance.' Josiah Royce.
It*
will come to-night come as an inner
catastrophe not unlike that of death I shall hear !
XX
*To everything that a man does he must give his undivided atten-
tion or his Ego. When he has done this, thoughts soon arise in him,
or else a new method of apprehension miraculously appears. . . .
' Very remarkable it is that through this play of his personality man
first becomes aware of his specific freedom, and that it seems to him
claimed him kin with the flying shapes upon the hills.
At the heart of this portion which sought to detach
itself from his central personality —
which, indeed,
—
seemed already half escaped he cantered.
The experience lasted but a second this swift,—
free motion of the escaping Double —
then passed
away like those flashes of memory that rise and
vanish again before they can be seized for examina-
tion. He shook himself free of the unaccountable
obsession, and with the effort of returning to the
actual present, the passing-outwardswas temporarily
checked. And it was then, just
he held himself
as
in hand again, that glancing sideways, he became
aware that the boy beside him had, like his parent,
also changed —grown large and shadowy with a similar
suggestion of another splendid outline. The extension
already half accomplished in himself and fully accom-
plished in the father, was in process of accomplish-
ment in the smaller figure of the son. Clothed in
the emerged true shape of their inner being they
slowly revealed themselves. It was as bewildering as
watching death, and as stern and beautiful.
For the boy, still holding his hand, loped along
beside him as though the projection that emanated
from him, grown almost physical, were somehow diffi-
cult to manage.
In the moment of nearer, smaller consciousness
that yet remained to him, O'Malley recalled the
significant pantomime of Dr. Stahl two days before
in the cabin. It came with a rush of fire. The
warning operated ; his caution instantly worked.
He dropped the hand, let the clinging fingers slip
from his own, overcome by something that appalled.
For this, surely, was the inner catastrophe that he
dreaded, the radical internal dislocation of his per-
I50 THE CENTAUR xxi
ready !
But his voice rose scarcely above a whisper.
'
—
upon them over the quiet water then died away
again among the mountains and the night. Its
passage through the sky was torrential. The whole
pouring flood of dipped back with abrupt swift-
it
himself. The
parent rose beside him, massive and
stable, secure as the hills which were his true home,
and the boy broke suddenly into happy speech which
was wild and singing.
He looked up swiftly into his parent's steady
visage.
Father
'
he cried in tones that merged half
!
*
Chiron calls — !
—
young face was alight with joy and passion. * Go,
father, jo«, or
—
He stopped an instant, catching the Irishman's
eyes upon his own across the form between them.
'
— or you
'
he added with a laughter of delight
!
'
^ you go !
M
XXIII
— out
'
'
You heard } You saw it all ? he murmured'
And resist !
1
64 THE CENTAUR xxiii
*
tap the extensions of the personality we now call
subconscious, and a man in anger, in love, in ecstasy
of any kind is greater than he knows. But to you
has come, perhaps, the greatest form of all a definite —
and instant merging with the being of the Earth
herself. You reached the point where you felt the
spirit of the planet's life. You almost crossed the
threshold —
your extension edged into her own.
'
She bruised you, and you knew
" Bruised "
*
he asked, startled at the singular
.^^
'
*
But, why in particular me }
'
he asked. * Can't
'
1 Oliver Lodge.
XXIII THE CENTAUR 167
*
know no other."
O'Malley sank deeper into his chair, making no
reply. His mind clutched at the words too grossly *
'
* *'
Though it is true that we know no other,"
he heard Stahl repeating slowly as he looked down
into his cup and stirred the dregs.
Then, suddenly, the doctor rose and came over
1 IbU
'
*
Thank you cried the Irishman, now wholly
!
'
*
One leads, though, to the other,' interrupted
O'Malley quickly. It is merely a question of the
'
*
They join hands, I mean, behind my back, as it
were.'
'
Possibly.'
This stranger, then, may really lead me forward
*
'
I
travelled from the soul of the world, away from
j
large simplicity into the pettier state they deemed so
proudly progress.
"^
Out of the transliminal depths of this newly
—
172 THE CENTAUR xxiii
should come —
that transfer of the conscious centre
across the threshold into this vaster region stimulated
—
by the Earth all his longings would be housed at
last like homing birds, nested in the gentle places his
yearnings all these years had lovingly built for them
— in a living Nature ! The fever of modern life, the
torture and unrest of a false, external civilization
that trained the brain while it still left wars and
baseness in the heart, would drop from him like the
symptoms of some fierce disease. The god of speed
and mechanism that ruled the world to-day, urging
men at ninety miles an hour to enter a Heaven
where material gain was only a little sublimated and
not utterly denied, would pass for the nightmare
that it really was. In its place the cosmic life of
undifferentiated simplicity, clean and sweet and big,
would hold his soul in the truly everlasting arms.
And little German doctor, sitting yonder,
that
enlightened yet afraid, seeking an impossible com-
—
promise Stahl could no more stop his going than a
fly could stop the rising of the Atlantic tides.
Out of all this tumult of confused thought and
feeling there rose then the silver face of some
forgotten and passionate loveliness. Apparently it
reached his lips, for he heard his own voice mur-
muring outside him somewhere across the cabin :
*
The gods of Greece and of the world — '
—
XXIII THE CENTAUR 173
1
84 THE CENTAUR xxv
'
Still,' replied Stahl, following his example.
Over the glasses' rims their eyes met. Both
smiled, though neither quite knew why. The Irish-
man, perhaps, was thinking of the little city clerks
he knew at home, pigeon-breasted, pale-faced, under-
sized. One of these big men, so full of rushing,
vigorous life, would eat a dozen at a sitting.
*
There's something here the rest of the world has
lost,' he murmured to himself But the doctor heard
him.
You feel it } he asked quickly, his eyes
* '
brighten-
'
ing. The awful, primitive beauty }
'
*
I feel —something,
certainly,' was the cautious
answer. He
could not possibly have said more just
then ; yet it seemed as though he heard far echoes
of that voice that had been first borne to his ears
— —
1 86 THE CENTAUR xxv
across the blue i^gean. In the gorges of these
terrible mountains it surely sounded still. These
men must know it too.
The spell of this strange land will never leave
*
—man—who—tempted you.'
O'Malley did not answer. He drank the liquid
golden sunshine in his glass his eyes lifted to the ;
' For here they all grow with her. They do not
fight her and resist. She pours freely through
them ; is no opposition.
there The channels still lie
open ; .and they share her life and power.'
. .
*
That beauty which the modern world has lost,'
repeated the other to himself, lingering over the
' — ;
*
I never care for much wine. And the gods of the
Future will prefer my usual offering, I think
imaginative faith.*
The doctor did not ask him to explain. They
walked down the middle of the narrow streets. No
one was about, nor were there lights in many
windows. Once or twice from an upper story came
the faint twanging of a balalaika against the drone of
voices, and occasionally they passed a little garden
where figures outlined themselves among the trees,
with the clink of glasses, laughter of men and girls,
and the glowing tips of cigarettes.
They turned down towards the harbour where the
spars and funnels of the big steamers were just visible
against the sky, and opposite the unshuttered window
—
of a shop one of those modern shops that oddly
mar the town with assorted German tinware, Paris
hats, and oleographs indiscriminately mingled Stahl —
stopped a moment and pointed. They moved up
idly and looked in. From the shadows of the other
side, well hidden, an armed patrol eyed them sus-
piciously, though they were not aware of it.
*
It was before a window like this,* remarked
Stahl, apparently casually, that I once in Tiflis over-
'
Civilization.'
'
I'll try.'
XXVI
He walked along the middle of the street as Stahl
had advised. He would have done so in any case,
unconsciously, for he knew these towns quite as well
as the German did. Yet he did not walk alone.
The entire Earth walked with him, and personal
danger was an impossibility. A dozen ruffians
might attack him, but none could *take' his life.
How simple it all seemed, yet how utterly beyond
the reach of intelligible description to those who
—
have never felt it this sudden surge upwards, down-
wards, all around and about of the vaster conscious-
ness amid which the sense of normal individuality
seemed but a tiny focussed point. That loss of
personality he first dreaded as an inner catastrophe
*
distance *
upon being able to get from suburbia to
;
'
the key, the inspiration
And
the fragment that he read expressed a little
bit of his own thought and feeling. The seer who
wrote it looked ahead, naming it After Civilization,' *
In the first soft winds of spring, while snow yet lay on the
ground
Forth from the city into the great woods wandering,
Into the great silent white woods where they waited In their
beauty and majesty
For man their companion to come :
The few needs, the exhilarated radiant life the food and —
population question giving no more trouble ;
No hurry more, no striving one to over-ride the other :
XXVII
* Far, very far, steer by my star,
Leaving the loud world's hurry and clamour.
In the mid-sea waits you, maybe,
The Isles of Glamour, where Beauty reigns.
From coasts of commerce and myriad-marted
Towns of traffic by wide seas parted.
Past shoals unmapped and by reefs uncharted,
The single-hearted my isle attains.
XXVIII
* Seasons and times; Life and Fate — all are remarkable, rhythmic,
metric, regular throaghout. In all crafts and arts, in all machines,
in organic bodies, in our daily occupations, everywhere there is
rhythm, metre, accent, melody. All that we do with a certain skill
unnoticed, we do
rhythmically. There is rhythm everywhere ; it
insinuates everywhere.
itself All mechanism is metric, rhythmic.
There must be more in it than this. Is it merely the influence of
inertia ^ —
Novalis. Translated by U. C. B.
there —
with others —of his kind.'
And then, hardly pausing to take breath, he
plunged, as his manner was, full tilt into the details
of this first experience that thrilled my hedging soul
with an astonishing power of conviction. As always
when his heart was in the words, the scenery about
us faded and I lived the adventure with him. The
cowled and hooded chimneys turned to trees, the
stretch of dim star-lit London Park became a deep
Caucasian vale, the thunder of the traflic was the
XXVIII THE CENTAUR 209
'
And not of the Earth alone,' he interrupted my
dreaming in a voice like singing, ' but of the entire
Universe. The spheres and constellations weave
across the fields of ether the immense old rhythm of
*
their divine, eternal dance . . . !
XXIX
*. . . . And then suddenly,
While perhaps twice my heart was dutiful
To send my
blood upon its little race
I was exalted above surety,
And out of Time did fall.'
Lascellas Abercrombie, Poems and Interludes.
certainly was.
—
Something old as the stones, old as the stones,'
'
. . Mais oui
. C'est moi qui vous le dis
! Old !
XXX
*The poets are thus liberating gods. The ancient British bards
had for the title of their order, " Those who are free throughout the
world." They are free, and they make free. An imaginative book
renders us much more service at first, by stimulating us through its
tropes, than afterward, when we arrive at the precise sense of the
author. I think nothing is of any value in books, excepting the
transcendental and extraordinary. If a man is inflamed and carried
away by his thought, to that degree that he forgets the authors and
the public, and heeds only this one dream, which holds him like an
insanity, let me read his paper, and you may have all the arguments
and histories and criticism.' Emerson.
both. *
We go, together then.' And, there and
then, they started, side by side.
The suddenness of this concerted departure only
seemed strange afterwards when O'Malley looked
back upon it, for at the time it seemed as inevitable
as being obliged to swim once the dive is taken. He
stood upon a pinnacle whence lesser details were
invisible he knew a kind of exaltation
; —
of loftier
vision. Small facts that ordinarily might fill the day
with trouble sank below the horizon then. He did
not even notice that they went without food, horse,
or blankets. It was reckless, unrestrained, and utterly
unhindered, this free setting-forth together. Thus
might he have gone upon a journey with the wind,
the sunshine, or the rain. Departure with a thought,
a dream, a fancy could not have been less unhampered.
The only detail of his outer world that lingered
— and that, already sinking out of sight like a stone
into deep water —
was the image of the running peasant.
For a moment he recalled the picture. He saw the
man in the act of stooping after the fallen bashlik.
He saw him seize it, lift it to his head again. But
—
the picture was small already very far away. Before
the bashlik actually reached the head, the detail
dipped into mist and vanished. . •
XXXI
It was spring —and the flutes of Pan played every-
where. The radiance of the world's first morning
shone undimmed. Life flowed and sang and danced,
abundant and untamed. It bathed the mountains
and that sky of stainless blue. It bathed him too.
Dipped, washed, and shining in it, he walked the
Earth as she lay radiant in her early youth. The
crystal presence of her everlasting Spring flew laugh-
ing through a world of light and flowers — flowers
|-hat none could ever pluck to die, light thatcould
never fade to darkness within walls and roofs.
All day they wound easily, as though on winged
feet, through the steep belt of box and beech woods,
and in sparkling brilliant heat across open spaces
where the azaleas shone ; a cooling wind, fresh as
the dawn, seemed ever to urge them forwards. The
country, for all its huge scale and wildness, was park-
like ; the giant, bushy trees wore an air of being
tended by the big winds that ran with rustling music
among their waving foliage. Between the rhododen-
drons were avenues of turf, broad-gladed pathways,
yet older than the moon, from which a thousand
gardeners of wind and dew had gone but a moment
before to care for others further on. Over all
brimmed up some primal, old-world beauty of a
simple life —
some immemorial soft glory of the dawn.
232
XXXI THE CENTAUR 233
and valleys.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan !
XXXII
' Inward, ay, deeper far than love or scorn,
Deeper than bloom of virtue, stain of sin,
Rend thou the veil and pass alone within,
Stand naked there and know thyself forlorn.
Nay in what world, then, spirit, wast thou born
! ?
Impossible
*
—
fatal,' was the laconic, comprehensive
reply, *
limiting : destructive even.'
That, at least, I grasped : the pitifulness of words
before that love by which self goes wholly lost in the
being of another, adrift yet cared for, gathered
allwonderfully in.
*And your Russian friend your leader .f^' I
ventured, haltingly.
—
His reply was curiously illuminating :
added abruptly.
The pale London sunlight came through the
window across chimneys, dreary roofs, courtyards.
Yet where it touched his face it seemed at once to
shine. His voice was warm and eager. I caught
from him, as it were, both heat and light.
'
You moved though, over country }
actually,
'
forests, —
dew, and dawn as he told it, that dear way-
ward Child of Earth For his voice fell, like music
!
*
XXXIII
* Why, what is this patient entrance into Nature's deep resources
But the most gradual learning to walk upright without bane ?
child's
When we drive out, from the cloud of steam, majestical white horses,
Are we greater than the first men who led black ones by the mane ?
*
E. B. Browning.
The *
Russian '
led.
O'Malley styled him thus to the end for want of
a larger word, perhaps —
a word to phrase the inner
and the outer. Although the mountains were devoid
of trails, he seemed always certain of his way. An
absolute sense of orientation possessed him or, ;
*
something
He sighed in answer. ' Something, perhaps.
But I have got it always it's all still part of me. ;
'
universal being.
*
stammered half beneath my breath,
Perhaps,' I
'
perhaps some day you may . . .
!
XXXIV
* Oh! whose heart Is not stirred with tumultuous joy when the
intimate Life of Nature enters into his soul with all its plenitude, . . .
when that mighty sentiment for which language has no other name
than Love is diffused in him, like some powerful all-dissolving vapour ;
when he, shivering with sweet terror, sinks into the dusky, enticing
bosom of Nature when the meagre personality loses itself in the over-
;
powering waves of passion, and nothing remains but the focal point
of the incommensurable generative Force, an engulphing vortex in
the ocean ?* Novalis, Disciples at Sals. Translated by U. C. B.
248
xxxiv THE CENTAUR 249
the mountains.
It may have been the leader's voice it may have ;
XXXVI
* Here we but peak and dwindle :
The clank of chain and crane,
The whir of crank and spindle
Bewilder heart and brain j
The ends of our endeavour
Are wealth and fame,
Yet in the still Forever
We're one and all the same ;
*
I really do believe and know myself/ he said to
me across that spotted table-cloth, *
that for the time
I was merged into the being of another, a being
immensely greater than myself Perhaps old Stahl
was right, perhaps old crazy Fechner and it actually ;
divine !
the hills could dance and sing and clap their hands.
He saw it clear. How could it be otherwise?
They were expressions of her giant moods —what in
himself were thoughts
Consciousness.
phases of her ample, surging
. . .
—
He passed with the sunlight down the laughing
valleys, spread with the morning wind above the
woods, shone on the snowy peaks, and leaped with a
rushing laughter among the crystal streams. These
were his swift and darting signs of joy, words of his
singing as it were. His main and central being
swung with the pulse of the Earth, too great for any
telling.
He read the book of Nature all about him, yes,
—
Even the Irishman who in ordinary life had felt
instinctively that worship which is close to love, and
so to the union that love brings —even he, in this
new-found freedom, only partially discerned their
presences. He felt them now, these stately Powers
men once called the gods, but felt them from a
distance and from a distance, too, they saw and
;
And, keeping
mostly to the river-beds, they
splashed in played and leaped and
the torrents,
cantered. From the openings of many a moist cave
others came to join them. Below a certain level,
though, they never went ; the forests knew them
not they loved the open, windy heights.
; They
turned and circulated as by a common consent,
wheeling suddenly together as if a single desire
actuated the entire mass. One instinct spread, as it
XXXVIl
'The hours when the mind is absorbed by beauty are the only
hours when we really live, so that the longer we can stay among these
things, so much the more is snatched from inevitable time.* Richard
Jefferies.
—
moods, thoughts, dreams expressions of her various
Consciousness with which she mothered, fed, and
blessed all whom it was possible to reach. Their pas-
sionate yearning, their worship, made access possible.
Along the tenderest portions of her personaHty these
latter came, as by a spread network of infinitely deli-
cate filaments that extended from herself, deliciously
inviting. » . .
'
He found himself near the tumbled-down stone
huts of a hamlet that he recognized. He staggered,
rubbed his eyes, and stared. A forest of beech trees
shook below him in a violent wind. He saw the
branches tossing. ACaucasian saddle-horse beside
him nosed a sack that spilt its flour on the ground
at his feet, he heard the animal's noisy breathing ;
he noted the sliding movement of the spilt flour
before it finally settled ; and some fifty yards beyond
him, down the slopes, he saw a human figure
running.
It was his Georgian guide. The man, half
stooping, caught the woollen bashlik that had fallen
from his head.
' —
282 THE CENTAUR xxxviii
*
. one of them is close upon us.
. . Hide
your eyes Save yourself
! They come from the
!
run . . .
!
'
you wind ^
afraid of a gust of
And in his face and voice, perhaps too in his
manner, was something he had brought back from
the vision, for the man stopped at once in his headlong
course, paused a moment to stare and question, and
then, though still looking over his shoulder and
making occasional signs of his religion, came slowly
back to his employer's side again.
*It has passed,* said O'Malley in a voice that
seemed to crumble in his mouth. It is gone again
*
*
It was like waking suddenly in the night out of
deep sleep,' he said; *not of one's own accord, or gradu-
ally, but as when someone shakes you out of slumber
and you are wide awake at once. You have been
—
dreaming vigorously thick, lively, crowded dreams,
and they all vanish on the instant. You catch the
tail-end of the procession just as it's diving out of
sight. In less than a second all is gone.'
For this was the hint that remained. He caught
the flying tail-end of the vision. He knew he had
seen something. But, for the moment, that was all.
Then, by degrees and afterwards, the details re-
emerged. In the days that followed, while with
Rostom he completed the journey already planned,
the deeper consciousness gave back its memory piece
by piece ; and piece by piece he set it down in note-
XXXIX THE CENTAUR 285
him.'
For a moment Dr. Stahl looked puzzled. He
dropped the hand he held so tightly and led him
down the wharf.
*
We'll out of this devilish sun,' he said,
get
leading the way among the tangle of merchandise
and bales, *it's enough to boil our brains.' They
passed through the crowd of swarthy, dripping
Turks, Georgians, Persians, and Armenians who
laboured half naked in the heat, and moved towards
the town. A
Russian gunboat lay in the Bay, side
292
XL THE CENTAUR 293
question, *
because it lives. But there is dust upon
its outer loveliness, dust that has gathered through
long ages of neglect, dust that I would sweep away
— I've learnt how to do it. He taught me.'
Stahl did not even look at him, though thewords
were wild enough. He walked at his side in silence.
Perhaps he partly understood. For this first link
with the outer world of appearances was difficult for
him to pick up. The person of Stahl, thick-coated
with the civilization whence he came, had brought it,
and out of the ocean of glorious vision in his soul,
O'Malley took at random the first phrases he could
find.
Yes, I've booked a passage on your steamer,' he
*
* I
mean it's all too big and overwhelming. He
showed me such blinding splendours. I might tell
—
it, but as to writing
!
He shrugged his shoulders.
'
*
What
kind of shock O'Malley asked, startled
.?
'
to dust '
*
That's of the body !
'
That's of the body, yes,' the older man repeated
darkly.
There is only " going home," escape and freedom.
'
died.'
*
He
went away in the early morning,' he added
in a low voice that held both sadness and sympathy.
*
He went home,' said the Irishman, a tide of joy
rising tumuituously through his heart as he re-
membered. The secret of that complete and absolute
Leadership was out. He understood it all. It had
been a spiritual adventure to the last.
Then followed a pause.
In silence they stood there for some minutes.
There grew no flowers on that grave, but O'Malley
' —
XL THE CENTAUR 297
* My
friend, my dear young friend,' the German
murmured in a voice of real tenderness, you heard *
it truly —
but you heard it in your heart. Few hear
the Pipes of Pan as you do. Few care to listen.
To-day the world is full of other sounds that drown
And even of those who hear,' he shrugged his
it.
—
few will care to follow how fewer still will dare.^
And while they lay upon the beach and watched
the line of foam against their feet and saw the sea-
gulls curving idly in the blue and shining air, he
added underneath his breath O'Malley hardly —
caught the murmur of his words so low he
murmured them :
beautiful again. .
.'
. He let it pour out of him,
building the scaffolding of his dream before him in
the air and filling it in with beauty.
The American listened in patience, watching the
walnut logs being towed through the water to the
side of the ship. From time to time he spat on
them, or into the sea. He let the beauty go com-
pletely past him.
!
*
You're interested, I see, in socialism and communistic
schemes. There's money in them somewhere right
enough, if a man only could hit the right note at the
first go off. Take a bit of doing, though !
?
beneath a violet sea . . .
*
to my cabin when youVe ready.
Come My
windows open to the west. We can be alone together.
We can have there what food we need. You would
'
prefer it perhaps ?
opal sky of dream from which the sun had gone, and
walked slowly down the deck towards Stahl's cabin.
If only I can share it with them/ he thought as
'
in the eyes.
Then to the Irishman it came suddenly that all
these days while he had been lost in dreaming the
doctor had kept him as of old under close observation.
The completeness of his reverie had concealed from
him this steady scrutiny. He had been oblivious to
the fact that Stahl had all the time been watching,
investigating, keenly examining. Abruptly he now
realized it.
XLIII
*
By leading the nations back to Nature you think
'
*
Because I knew what
was talking about.'
I
The doctor's voice came some-
across the darkness
what ominously. And then he added in a louder
tone, evidently sitting forward as he said it For :
*
*
To you, doctor, too ? exclaimed the Irishman
'
*
Please go on, doctor,' he said, keenly on the
watch. I'm deeply interested.' The wings of his
*
great dream still bore him too far aloft for him to
feel more than the merest passing annoyance at his
discovery. Resentment had gone too. Sadness and
disappointment for an instant touched him pprhaps,
biit momentarily. In the end he felt sure that Stahl
would stand at his side, completely won over and
convinced.
*
a similar experience to my own, you
You had
say,'he urged him. *
I am all eagerness and sym-
'
pathy to hear
*
We'll talk in the open air,' the doctor answered,
XLIII THE CENTAUR 313
*
And then it was for the first time I recognized
the spell he had cast upon me ; for, when the Com-
mittee decided there was no reason to keep him
longer, I urged that he should stay. Making a
special plea, I took him as a private patient of my
own. I kept him under closer personal observation
than ever before. I needed him. Something deep
within me, something undivined hitherto, called out
into life by his presence, could not do without him.
This new craving, breakingly wild and sweet, awoke
in my Blood and cried for him. His presence
nourished it in me. Most insidiously it attacked
me. It stirred deep down among the roots of my
being. It " threatened my personality " seems the
best way I can put it ; for, turning a critical analysis
upon it, I discovered that it was an undermining and
revolutionary change going steadily forward in my
character. Its growth had hitherto been secret.
When I first recognized its presence, the thing was
already strong. For a long time, it had been
building.
And the change in a word you will grasp my
*
*
It came in patches,' Stahl continued. *
My
normal, everyday self was thus able to check it.
While it derided, commiserated this everyday self,
the latter stood in dread of it and even awe. My
training, you see, regarded it as symptom of dis-
order, a beginning of unbalance that might end in
insanity, the thin wedge of a dissociation of the
personality Morton Prince and others have described.*
His speech grew more and more jerky, even
incoherent, evidently the material had not even now
been fully reduced to order in his mind.
'Among other curious symptoms I soon estab-
lished that this subtle spreading of my consciousness
grew upon me especially during sleep. The business
of the day distracted, scattered it. On waking in the
morning, as with the physical fatigue that comes
towards the closing of the day, it was strongest.
And so, in order to examine it closely when in
'
of an unanswerable intuition
—
came to warn me presenting itself with the authority
—
the realization, namely,
that if, for a single moment in his presence, I slept
the changes would leap forward in my own being,
and I should join him.'
*
Escape ! Know freedom in a larger conscious-
ness !
' cried the other.
* And for a man of my point of view and training
to have permitted such a conviction at all,' he went
on, the interruption utterly ignored again, '
proves
how far along the road I had already travelled
without knowing it. Only at the time I was not
aware of this. It was the shock of full discovery
later that brought me to my senses, when, seeking
to withdraw, —
I found I could not.'
*
And so you ran away.' It came out bluntly
enough, with a touch of scorn but ill concealed.
Y
322 THE CENTAUR xliii
*
We discharged him. But before that came
there was more I have to tell —
you if you still care
to hear it/
'
I'm not tired, if that's what you mean. I could
listen all night, as far as that goes/
He moment, and Stahl
rose to stretch his legs a
rose too — Together they leaned over the
instantly.
bulwarks. The German's hat was off and the air
made by the steamer's passage drew his beard out.
The warm soft wind brought odours of sea. and
shore. It caressed their faces, then passed on across
those sleeping peasants on the lower deck. The
masts and rigging swung steadily against the host
of stars.
Before I thus knew myself half caught,' continued
*
resistance.'
You spoke just now of other things that came to
'
'
You shall read that for yourself to-morrow/
came the answer, *
in the detailed report I drew up
afterwards ; it is far too long to tell you now. But,
I may mention something of it. That breaking out
of patients was a curious thing, their trying to escape,
their dreams and singing, their efforts sometimes to
approach his room, their longing for the open and
the gardens; the deep, prolonged entrancing of a
few ; the sounds of rushing, tramping that they, too,
heard, the violence of some, the silent ecstasy of
others. The thing may find its parallel, perhaps, in
the collective mania that sometimes afflicts religious
communities, in monasteries or convents. Only here
there w^s no preacher and eloquent leader to induce
hysteria —
nothing but that silent dynamo of power,
gentle and winning as a little child, a being who could
not put a phrase together, exerting his potent spell
unconsciously, and chiefly while he slept.'
For the phenomena almost without exception
*
*
Or to be known subjectively
!
' O'Malley
checked him.
*
I am no lotos-eater by nature/ he went on with
*
too hot to sleep. Tve run up for a gulp of air.'
He made as though he would join them.
*
The wind's behind us, yes,' replied the doctor in a
difl^erent'tone, 'and there's no draught.' With a
gesture, half bow, half dismissal, he made even this
thick-skinned member of the greatest civilization on
*
*
With the discharge of your patient the trouble
*
ceased at once, then ?
doctor.'
*
I congratulate you
—
*
Viel Dank.' He bowed.
*On what you missed, yet almost accomplished,'
the other finished. *You might have known, like
me, the cosmic consciousness You might have met !
the gods !
*
It's better to keep silent,' was the answer, for, *
one!'
Stahl answered very gently, smiling with his new
expression of tenderness and sympathy. Dream *
selfish
But Stahl, once in the privacy of his cabin,
judging by the glance visible on his face ere he closed
the door, may probably have known a very different
thought. And possibly he uttered it below his
breath. A
sigh most certainly escaped his lips, a sigh
half sadness, half relief. For O'Malley remembered
it afterwards.
xLiv THE CENTAUR 333
' Beautiful, foolish dreamer among men !But,
—
thank God, harmless to others and himself.' —
And soon afterwards O'Malley also went to his
cabin. Before sleep took him he lay deep in a mood
—
of sadness almost as though he had heard his friend's
unspoken thought. He realized the insuperable
difficulties that lay before him. The world would
think him mad but harmless.'
*
338
' '
the gods !
stairs, *
sound as a bell. He wants the open air and
plenty of wholesome food, that's His body is all.
very grave.
You think he's dying }
'
«From— .?'
*
From lack of living pure and simple,' was the
answer. * He
has lost all hold on life.'
'
He has abundant vitality still.'
'
Full of it. But it all goes elsewhere. — The
physical organism gets none of it.'
Yet mentally,'
*
I asked, '
there's nothing actually
'
wrong ?
*
Not in the ordinary sense. The mind is clear
and active. So far as I can test it, the process of
and undamaged.
me —
thought is healthy It seems to
'
It might be even that,' he answered slowly.
'
were owing.
'
It*s no good arsking 'im/ she said, though not
unkindly on the whole. Tm sick an' tired of always
'
serve as a reference
*
between lodger and landlady
'
'
I was far, so far away, in the deep life of Earth.
* They're
all in there.'
* And
where is it you go to ?
'
Do you hear . . .V
The look of joy that broke over the face like
sunshine made me hold my breath. Something in
his low voice thrilled me beyond all I have ever
known. I listened too. Only the rumble of the
traffic down the distant main street broke the
silence, the rattle of a nearer cart, and the footsteps
of a few pedestrians. No other noises came across
the night. There was no wind. Thick yellow fog
muffled everything.
I hear nothing,'
*
I answered softly. *
What is it
'
that you hear }
And, making no reply, he presently lay down
again among the pillows, that look of joy and glory
still upon his face. It lay there to the end like
sunrise.
The
fog came in so thickly through the window
that I rose
to close it. He never closed that
window, and I hoped he would not notice. For a
—
XLVI THE CENTAUR 345
'
*
The fog
*
There is no fog. It's only sun and flowers and
music. Let them in. Don't you hear it now ? he '
'
voice like one speaking from a distance, I'll go *
THE END
By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES
TIMES. — "A collection of remarkable stories of a strange
imaginativeness.
OBSERVER. — *'A11 the tales are works of supreme artistry;
and it is, moreover, a rare pleasure to find a connoisseur of the
occult who so emphatically repudiates sensationalism."
WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.— "Mi. Blackwood has the
gift, and books shows him exercising it with more
this latest of his
potency than before. We congratulate him."
MORNING POST.—" Mr. Blackwood's latest volume contains
five stories, and each of them is in its way a masterpiece of mystical
speculation. The most magical and majestical of the five is
. . .
*
The Damned,' which represents, in our judgment, the climax of
its author's achievement, both in imaginative power and in sheer
craftsmanship."
THE EDUCATION OF
UNCLE PAUL
GUARDIAN.— ''^zx^ and exquisite book. . . . It is all of a
strange loveliness, and, despite its aerial quality, of real sincerity.
Thi Education of Uncle Paul is a book to puzzle the 'average
reader 'and rejoice the elect."
TIMES.—'' Wholly delightful book."
A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND
(THE BOOK THAT "UNCLE PAUL" WROTE)
SPECTA TOR.—'' A romance of unfaltering beauty. The streak
of genius in it is unmistakable. has the madness of dreams, the
It
By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
PAN'S GARDEN
A VOLUME OF NATURE STORIES
DAILY GRAPHIC— ''They reveal Mr. Blackwood once
again as the possessor of a unique talent among present - day
writers."
—
SPECTA TOR. " The stories are never merely grim or horrible,
but enthralling in their power of imagination and delightful in their
picturesque and carefully chosen language."
STANDARD.—" In these short stories we find Mr. Blackwood
at his best."
JIMBO
A FANTASY
DAILY CHRONICLE.— '\fimbo is a delicious book, and one
tliat should be read by who
long at times to escape from this
all
JOHN SILENCE
OBSER VER.—'* Not since the days of Poe have we read any-
thing in his peculiar genre fit to be compared with tliis remarkable
lx)ok."
WORLD. — "No one should miss a book of such singular in-
genuity and power ; but no nervous person can be advised to read
it except at a considerably interval before going to bed."
mci ^
HOME USE
^iLl 9^
m 9
AUTO. DISC
T^B 11 '87
aECClR-OCT n'Tf
^mw^
BQl
gCULATiON DEPT.
C/R. SEP 15
'82
OCT 07 1983
FORM NO. DD 6,
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKI
BERKELEY CA 94720
General Library
LD 21A-50m-4,'59 University of California
(A17248l0)476B Berkeley
r
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES
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